


Abrupt

by Beth Harker (Beth_Harker)



Series: You'll have abs in no time. [6]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, childhood pet death mentioned (beta fish), drug mention, humorous use of innuendo, internalized ableism, post squip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21637291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Harker/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: Jeremy and Michael go back to the mall for the first time after the Squip’s deactivation.  Jeremy doesn’t handle it as well as he’d like to.
Relationships: Jeremy Heere & Michael Mell, Jeremy Heere/Michael Mell, can be read as romantic or platonic - Relationship
Series: You'll have abs in no time. [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1309493
Comments: 24
Kudos: 141





	Abrupt

Jeremy doesn’t deliberately avoid the Menlo Park Mall after the Squip’s deactivation. He just doesn’t feel any particular urge to go there. Prior to everything that went down, it’d been one of the first places he’d suggest whenever Michael asked him what he wanted to do on one of their Saturday afternoon hangouts. The mall had lots of cool stuff, like an arcade and laser tag and the food court, plus since Michael had gotten his license, there’d just been something quintessentially freeing about the place. It’d been like being the protagonists in an 80’s teen drama or whatever, devising crazy adventures to fill up their parent-free degenerate loitering. 

These days, when Michael prompts Jeremy to come up with activities, he usually sticks to stuff they can do at Michael’s house. They get stoned in Michael’s basement a hundred times over. They watch a lot of movies. They play video games when Jeremy’s brain is working and he can pay attention, which is happening more and more often, thank god. They go out for pizza with Christine a lot, and sometimes with others. It’s normal and chill. They just don’t go to the mall, and there’s no real reason for it, until Michael brings up going, and then suddenly there are tons of reasons. 

“It supports capitalism,” is what Jeremy comes up with, the first time Michael mentions Menlo Park, and his longing to win some cheap plastic shit at the arcade. 

“Fuck capitalism,” Michael agrees. They don’t go to the mall. 

The next time Michael brings it up, he’s kind of high, and Jeremy talks him out of it for his own good. Since his main objective is to eat, they go batshit and order from like four different restaurants on Door Dash, and all is well. 

The next time, Michael wants to get a birthday gift for his mom. 

“I need you, man,” he says, before he even mentions the mall. 

“I’m in.” Jeremy doesn’t pause to question what Michael could want. If he said he needed Jeremy to give him a kidney, it still wouldn’t be enough to cover half of what Jeremy owes him. 

“I need you to brave smelly stuff for me.”

“Okaay...” Jeremy answers. Michael’s aversion to scented things isn’t new. He’ll go on and on about how he loves the smell of computer keyboards and hardware stores, but perfume makes him want to vomit, especially foodie scents. He’s not allergic or anything, but smells make his senses go haywire, to the point where he hasn’t smoked the fancy “lime-mimosa” flavored weed Brooke scored him two months ago, in return for fixing her dad’s old Nintendo. Michael claims the smell of it makes his nostrils burn. “What kind of smelly stuff am I braving?” asks Jeremy.

“Lush. You can run in, grab a fistful of the froofiest bath bombs they’ve got, and keep them in your backpack till we get back home. Birthday accomplished.” 

“Oh,” Jeremy answers— just ‘oh’ because at the mention of Lush there’s an uncomfortable sensation in his chest like his heart just farted. Lush is at the mall, but that’s totally fine. A little cardiac gurgling never killed anybody. Jeremy licks his lips. “You do realize that the bomb smell is going to cling to your mom, and you’re gonna hate it, right?” 

“That’s the point. I’m getting her something that she loves and I hate because I care about her! And, like, it’s a way of telling her to prioritize herself, right? I can always escape to your place, or hideout down here.”

Jeremy nods. Michael’s reasoning makes sense. It’s good and kind, like Michael himself. “Can I steal that idea?” Jeremy asks. “Not with bath bombs. Maybe with really fancy hot sauce or whatever. Dad’s always saying how he misses spicy food, so...”

“Sure thing, dude,” Michael says, getting up. He grabs his wallet on the way to the door, and Jeremy’s heart does that thing again, which on second thought is a lot more like a fluttery squelch than a fart. “Jeremy? You coming?” 

Jeremy swallows and nods. He wipes his hands on his jeans as he stands up. He has to take the stairs out of the basement two at a time to keep up with Michael. 

Lush is in the mall, so that’s where they’re going. There’s a Lush down on Spring Street, which Jeremy could request they go to if he were afraid of the mall, but he isn’t. Even if he did have some issues (which he doesn’t), it wouldn’t matter because he’s capable of handling his own emotions. The fact that he _doesn’t_ always handle himself well has nothing to do with his _ability_ to handle himself. He just doesn’t try hard enough, or plan well enough, or remember to think and use common sense. This time he’ll do all those things, and he’ll be fine. 

Besides, he really has missed the arcade. And the food court. And the feeling of being carefree. He’s missed all of those things a lot. This trip to the mall is totally not a big deal at all, but it is a chance to regain something. Jeremy’s ready to take it. He’s so ready. 

During the car ride over, Michael talks about the musical episode of Lexx, and how Star Trek should’ve had a musical episode. 

“Out of every sci-fi show, a musical episode makes the most sense for Next Gen. It could be like, Q shows up, and everybody starts singing. Bam!”

 _Christine is rubbing off on you,_ Jeremy doesn’t say. This is one of those times when he can feel the stutter on the tip of his tongue, and he’d rather not let it out. 

“I’m gonna have to get Christine in on this,” Michael continues. “She’d eat that right up.” 

Jeremy chews on his lip. 

“You think she’d sit through a couple seasons of Next Gen with us next time we do a watch through?” 

“I’ll... uh. I’ll text her,” Jeremy says. It’ll give him something to do with his hands, and an excuse for being quiet. 

By the time they get to the mall, Christine has agreed to watch season one of Next Generation if Michael and Jeremy watch season one of The Good Place. Michael has written some truly horrendous lyrics for the Star Trek: the Next Generation Musical, which rhyme _Picard_ with _dick hard_.

In the parking lot, as they get out of the car, Jeremy’s heart is thudding in his face. His lip is twitching involuntarily. The blood rushing to his ears is near deafening. “You remember that song from Voyager?” Jeremy asks, fast and loud, like that’ll drown everything out. It sounds like “YOUREMEMBERTHATssssONGGFROMVVVVVV—OYAGER???!” Jeremy reddens, but if Michael notices, he gives no indication. He just slings an arm over Jeremy’s shoulder, and bursts into a round of raucous singing. 

“Tuvok I understand,  
You are a Vulcan man,  
You have just gone without,  
For seven years about...”

“People are staring...”

“Paris pleased find a way,  
To load a hypospray.  
It’s easy you will find.  
Just aim for his behind...”

People are staring so much, but at least they are staring at Michael, not at Jeremy. In the doorway, a man with purple tinted sunglasses and enormous pouty lips raises his eyebrows over his shades, like ~~Michael~~ Jeremy is the scum of the earth. Jeremy inches closer to Michael as they walk. And closer. He’s close enough, and just a little behind, that he steps on the heel of Michael’s shoe, yanking it halfway off. He has to grab onto Michael to keep him from losing his balance. 

“Sorry!” Jeremy yelps, detaching himself. 

“We’re good.” Michael grasps Jeremy’s shoulder a second longer than necessary, like he’s trying to keep Jeremy steady as well. He hobbles over to one of the food court tables to fix his shoe. Jeremy sits across from him. “We eating first, or Lushing first?” Michael asks. 

“Uh...” Jeremy shrugs. What he really wants to do is reach over the table and hold onto Michael’s arm, which is definitely bad and wrong, not in general, but for the situation. He always gravitates towards Michael, because Michael is his best friend and proof that Jeremy’s brain isn’t being taken over by any outside force. Gravitating isn’t the same thing as latching on. The urge that Jeremy is currently experiencing is very much a latching on type of urge. 

A middle-aged mall walker rushes past in a pink tracksuit, her gait duck-like and exaggerated. Jeremy scoots his chair in. The edge of the table pushes painfully against his stomach. 

But Jeremy’s okay. He’s fine. He’s at the mall with Michael, having fun, like he’s supposed to. 

“—with glitter, if you can swing it. I’ll pay. You just gotta get the goods.” 

“I—” Jeremy blinks hard. He shakes his head to clear it. “Could you repeat that?”

“Yeah man. I think you should get three, if you can. Try not to fondle too many balls.” Michael waggles his eyebrows at Jeremy. “The stink’ll stick. Just grab any three, and don’t touch them too much. With glitter, if you can swing it.” 

Jeremy wipes his hands on his jeans. Hopefully his sweat won’t set off the bath bombs the minute he touches them. That’d be gross, and maybe the Lush employee would get mad, plus then the perfume would be well and truly on him, losing him any support he might otherwise have. 

Michael talks some more. Jeremy tries to listen, but obviously not with an adequate amount of effort, ‘cause his eyes flicker over the people around them. He has the ability to not look at people, but he’s failing to exercise that ability. What else is new? Michael waves a hand in front of his face. “C’mon,” he says, and off they go. 

On the way, Jeremy steps on the heel of Michael’s shoes again. Twice. It’s not as bad this time, and Michael manages to pop his feet back in with minimal hardship, but it’s still dumb, and it’s getting stares that make Jeremy want to crawl out of his skin, but not _a lot_. Jeremy figures that his desire to crawl out of his skin is proportional with his wrongness, and other people who are as messed up as he is also experience a similar urge. 

Jeremy’s so fine. He’s super fine. He’s normal and good. Having fun. If Michael stays near him, there’s nothing he can’t take. He doesn’t have to touch the bath bombs to buy them, which means he’ll get to keep Michael, unless Michael wanders off to Spencer’s or the bathroom or any other place. He could probably tell Michael not to go to Spencer’s. There are words that can prevent Michael from going away. Jeremy knows those words. He knows grammar and syntax and how to form sentences. He knows this because he is a person and he’s seventeen, so he’s had tons of time to figure out how talking works. 

Each step makes Jeremy’s feet heavier. An ancient woman zooms by on an electric scooter. She whispers, with her wrinkly mouth, that Jeremy sucks. No big. He’ll just tell Michael he needs him to stay nearby. He’ll go into the Lush and all, but other than that he needs Michael to promise to stay close, and if he can communicate that the day will be saved and he won’t fail, at least not very badly. He’s not going to have a full blown panic attack or anything. A little reassurance, and he’ll be fine. The way to win this game is as simple as finding his voice, which Jeremy can do, because he’s not one years old or brain dead. 

_I think I’m okay, but stay close,_ Jeremy doesn’t say. The problem there is that his eyes are stinging, and if he speaks he’ll cry. And that’s stupid. How stupid is that? Especially considering if he manages to speak without crying, he’ll get to forgo the whole inappropriate emotional outburst thing all together. 

_I’m a little not okay, and I need you,”_ Jeremy also doesn’t say, firstly because he _is_ okay, and secondly because there’s this pitiful, childish whine stuck in his throat, and if he lets that sucker out, then he deserves to be devoured whole by the mall denizens and their searing hatred. Also, since when is Lush a million miles from the food court?

Maybe he can just talk to Michael about something else. If he can get talking calmly about normal things, he can slip what he wants to say in there somewhere, without going off. 

“If there was a musical episode of Next Generation,” Jeremy starts. His voice is wobbly. He’s interrupted Michael, but he also has no clue what Michael has been talking about. The nearest conversation he can snatch up the thread of is the one from the car. “It—“ Jeremy gasps. Talking nonsense was a bad strategy. “We—“ Jeremy pinches the bridge of his nose. Michael is stepping in front of him. Michael’s hands are on his arms. Now that Jeremy’s reached the point of critical system failure, he might as well say whatever, and he tries, but between the stuttering and heavy breathing, he’s not sure his attempt at asking Michael to stay is comprehensible. Poor Michael’s brow furrows. He can’t have been expecting this, but he folds Jeremy in his arms anyway, carefully moving them towards the wall where they won’t be in the way. 

They’re against the wall. Michael is holding Jeremy, and making hushing sounds. He’s always very nice, when Jeremy ruins everything, as he often does. 

“Don’t go,” Jeremy finally manages to choke out. “Please stay. Don’t—” and suddenly, that’s all he can say, over and over. It’s like the printers at school, which sometimes don’t respond, so students will just press the print button over and over in rapid succession, so that when they finally become unstuck, they print the same document fifty times in a row. 

Michael pulls Jeremy closer, and lets him finish. He hardly says anything, and doesn’t try to stop Jeremy. The saddest thing is that he’s most likely used to it by now. Jeremy’s practically used to it. He’s a self-aware mess. It’s like, he knows he might have some lingering brain-wrongness from the Squip, but he never does the right thing to put a stop to it, and situations like this keep happening, and it’s his fault for not being good enough. 

Now that he’s told Michael not to go, Jeremy wants to tell him he’s sorry, and he wants to thank him. However, he’s slowly managing to get his crying jag under control, and he knows that trying to express gratitude the way he should will start him up again. 

“Okay now?” 

Jeremy nods, but doesn’t pull away. Michael’s rubbing the back of his neck. It feels nice. 

“I’m not going anywhere. You following, Jer?” 

Jeremy nods. 

“Could you, like, squeeze my hand to let me know you’re hearing me?” 

Jeremy does. In most ways, Michael’s one of the least intuitive people Jeremy knows. In others, he just gets stuff in a way that nobody else does. Michael’s the only one who checks in to see if Jeremy knows what’s going on, or realizes that Jeremy can usually bluff his way through entire conversations without processing a single word. It’s new for Jeremy, and he barely understands why he’s stuck like this. It’s a post-squip thing, and Michael doesn’t notice until it’s obvious, but when he does notice he _gets_ it. 

“Okay, bud. I’m staying with you. Promise. I’m gonna give you a choice between getting some food in the food court, or going home. Do you wanna go home?” 

Jeremy shakes his head. 

(He does want to go home, but he also doesn’t want to be too defeated to do anything. Maybe he can build up his tolerance, like he did with going to school and doing theatre. There are normal places and Squip Places, and the squipiness of any given location can be reduced if Jeremy works at it.)

“You wanna get something to eat?”

Jeremy nods. 

Michael releases Jeremy, who wipes his eyes. “I’m okay,” Jeremy whispers, because he still can’t say sorry or thank you. Michael offers a sad smile in return. He takes Jeremy by the hand. They get orange chicken for lunch. 

“I can buy yours,” Jeremy offers. 

“Nah, I got this...” 

“I want to.” 

Michael nods, and Jeremy pays, in crumpled up bills that the cashier needs to smooth out before putting them in the cash register. Michael usually makes fun of him for the way his wallet is always a disaster, but he doesn’t this time.  
They eat in silence, no thanks and no apologies. Michael keeps his hand resting between Jeremy’s shoulder blades. He hardly touches his food, which Jeremy only notices when he’s halfway through his own. Michael doesn’t eat when he’s stressed. Jeremy is the opposite. He stops shoving food in his mouth, and rests his forehead on Michael’s shoulder. “You’re amazing,” he says. It comes close to expressing the things.

“You too.” 

Jeremy shakes his head. 

“No amount of denying it is going to change anything, Jer. You’re amazing. The bestest. I should’ve known not to take you back to where everything started.” 

“No. I... I’m okay coming here. Just. Not alone. It’s not even... it’s not even the... y’know. It’s the people. They all hate me. Unless I dress right and... I mean, I don’t act the way they want me to anymore, so they probably want me dead.” 

Michael pulls away, to survey the other people scattered around the mall food court. Jeremy follows his confused gaze. “Not to invalidate your feelings, or whatever, but I don’t think most of the people here care about you one way or the other.”

“No. After I first took the... y’know–“ Jeremy mimes swallowing a pill “–they all surrounded me and started singing about how I suck and–“ 

... And saying it out loud makes it all seem very implausible. Jeremy looks around him. None of the people in the mall, not even the wealthy woman two tables down with the terrifyingly large hat, seem inclined to break into a song and dance number about _anything_ , least of all Jeremy. 

Jeremy pulls away from Michael a little. He looks around him once more, then back up at his friend. “It probably didn’t happen that way, did it?”

Michael shakes his head. “Nope. I’m one hundred percent sure you didn’t inspire a full fledged musical extravaganza in the middle of the Menlo Park Mall.”

“There was kind of _a lot_ of singing in retrospect.” Jeremy takes a deep breath, and rests his head on the table. Ridiculously, he thinks back on the pet beta fish he’d had as a kid, the kept changing color every couple of weeks. His mom had told him the fish was leveling up, like a Pokémon. He’d been seven before he’d realized that his household had collectively killed well over thirty fish, his mom had been replacing them to shield him from the horrors of death, and his perception of the miraculous rainbow Pokémon fish in the bowl on the bookshelf had been total bullshit. 

Jeremy giggles— tiredly, and maybe a little hysterically. “We’ve been talking about dumb sci-fi musicals all day, and I only just realized I was basically in one, and it fucked me up.”

“...Maybe a little. But it’s understandable.”

“Can we go to the Spring Street Lush, and I’ll get you your stuff?” Jeremy asks, like he should have from the beginning. 

“Totally.”

**Author's Note:**

> The song that Michael sings is from the Star Trek: Voyager episode “Tinker, Tenor, Doctor, Spy”. 
> 
> Also, comments are appreciated. Very appreciated.


End file.
